Police pulled a man over on Route 29 in Silver Spring last week because of a problem with his plates. This would not ordinarily make international news, but the car was a black Lamborghini, the license plate was the Batman symbol, and the driver was Batman, dressed head-to-toe in full superhero regalia.

HOLY MOVING VIOLATION!

It didn’t take long before images of the Dark Knight’s encounter with law enforcement began turning up in Facebook news feeds, on CNN and the London tabloids. The episode even made it into Jimmy Fallon’s monologue on NBC earlier this week.

Jokers emerged instantaneously too. “Let him do his job,” one commenter urged on the Post Web site. “Batman has expensive taste,” noted another. Meanwhile, questions about Batman’s identity mounted: “Did they make him take off his mask?” someone asked.

No, they did not. Even Montgomery County police honor a superhero code of conduct, just like the Howard County officers who once helped him with a flat bat tire. Batman told officers his real name was not Bruce Wayne but Lenny B. Robinson, and that his real tags were in the car. (He was not ticketed then, but has been before for a heavy bat foot.)

The Caped Crusader is a businessman from Baltimore County who visits sick children in hospitals, handing out Batman paraphernalia to up-and-coming superheros who first need to beat cancer and other wretched diseases.

I actually know Batman. His parents are dear friends of my wife’s family, and I see him at holiday dinners where my 4-year-old son believes he is the real-life Bruce Wayne. “Daddy, he’s Batman, too,” my son will whisper to me. Though Batman has long been aware that I’m a journalist, he has never suggested I write about him. He does not crave publicity. Like his comic book namesake, he doesn’t seek credit for what he does.